


Shortsighted

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [93]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Merlin is, Arthur swears, the clumsiest idiot in the Five Kingdoms. Honestly, if it weren't so annoyingly inconvenient, it would almost be impressive. And it wouldn't be nearly as bad as it is if Merlin weren't squinting all the time.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [93]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 14
Kudos: 545





	Shortsighted

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much to alittletoo-obsessed on tumblr for the idea! you're great hon and i appreciate you so much!
> 
> also if you haven't seen colin morgan in glasses then you are missing out

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: Merlin isn't clumsy, he needs glasses - alittletoo-obsessed

* * *

Merlin squints all the time.

It makes him one hell of an annoyance, Arthur finds, because Merlin’s too busy squinting to hold the target steady or do the laundry properly or literally anything else. It’s the worst when they go outside, Merlin’s eyes barely more than slits whenever they go anywhere.

“Why are you squinting so much,” Arthur asks, exasperated one day when they’re walking through the lower town and Merlin’s barely keeping his eyes open long enough to avoid the many cobbles, “it’s making you even clumsier than usual!”

“It’s bright out,” Merlin defends, barely catching himself before he topples into someone else.

Arthur rolls his eyes and just keeps walking. Clumsy Merlin. Perhaps he should invest in some blinders for his manservant. If they help the horses stay focused, perhaps they’ll do wonders for his manservant.

Merlin complains of headaches, of bruises, of chores Arthur gives him that would take too long. Arthur rolls his eyes and makes him do things most of the time, relenting when the work comes back shoddy or Merlin actually _looks_ like he’s in pain.

“If you keep your face like that,” he remarks one day when Merlin hasn’t stopped frowning since breakfast, “it’ll stick.”

“Better than looking like you,” Merlin shoots back as he finishes making the bed. Arthur scoffs.

It’s better inside, he’s noticed. When they’re in his chambers and Merlin’s doing small chores around the room, he doesn’t squint as much. It’s…nicer, Arthur decides, because then Merlin doesn’t look so unbelievably stressed out all the time and he’s less likely to trip over his own feet.

Hunting trips are the worst. Because Merlin is loud and obnoxious at the best of times, and because he’s outside, he’s squinting even more.

“Merlin,” Arthur huffs, looking at his servant sprawled across a tree root, “we’re in the middle of the forest, _surely_ it can’t be too bright!”

“Breezy,” Merlin mutters, getting to his feet, “don’t want things in my eyes.”

“You are unbelievable,” Arthur says.

“Well, feel free to leave me at home next time.”

“And let you miss all the fun? Not on your life.”

“Some idea of ‘fun,’” Merlin mutters behind him but Arthur pays him no mind.

There’s something else funny about Merlin. Whenever he reads, he always has to be in Gaius’ chambers. Arthur asks him to look for things occasionally—only occasionally, Arthur is more than capable of navigating Camelot’s library by himself, thank you very much—and he’ll _give_ Merlin the books but Merlin won’t read them unless he’s with Gaius.

And here’s the thing. Arthur _knows_ he can read. Merlin’s proof-read his speeches—and written them too, but don’t worry about it—and according to Gwen, Merlin’s quite quick about doing his own brand of research, but he never does it in front of Arthur.

It worries him. Just a little bit.

But he can’t admit he’s a prince worried for his servant, so he just pushes Merlin’s shoulder playfully and teases him about how clumsy he is. Because, honestly, it’s a little ridiculous.

The man trips over _everything._ His own feet, the street cobbles, the perfectly even floor, tree roots, boots. If you can name it, Merlin’s tripped over it. Arthur’s quite fond of keeping trip tallies throughout the day, cheerfully calling out how many times Merlin’s tripped and smiling at the annoyed glare it earns him. Merlin also seems to have no idea where his body is at any particular moment. Arthur’s seen him get caught on stair railings, the corners of walls, tables, and he always looks surprised, as if he couldn’t see the _massive obvious object_ right in front of him.

He chalks it up to Merlin being Merlin.

He knows Merlin plays it up occasionally. He knows that when he’s storming back inside after a bad day Merlin’s there with his fumblings in the bedcovers, somehow managing to untuck one corner of the sheet just as he tucks another. And yet his hands are remarkably steady when he brings Arthur a plate of his favorite dessert that he _cough_ obtained from the kitchens. Merlin doesn’t squint then, not when Arthur looks up at him, gratitude written plainly on his face. He just lets his mouth quirk up in a tiny smile and spreads his hands ever so slightly, as if to say ‘out with it, then. Tell me what’s got you so upset.’

Arthur tells Merlin. He always tells Merlin.

If you asked him, he’d deny it, but Arthur’s secretly glad Merlin squints all the time. Arthur’s realized he has a very hard time saying ‘no’ to Merlin or keeping a lock on his words when Merlin looks at him properly.

Needless to say, when Arthur finally figures out _why_ Merlin squints all the time, he is well and truly screwed.

It’s morning and Merlin is late. Arthur walks down to Gaius’ chambers and pushes open the door, calling for Merlin. Gaius stands at one of the tables, mixing something in one of his bowls.

“He’s busy, Sire,” Gaius says.

Arthur frowns. “But I need him. Now.”

“Well, I’m afraid I—“

“Gaius, did you say the mixture needed the—“

Merlin freezes, leaned precariously as he is out of his room, the door ajar, staring at Arthur. Arthur can’t stop looking at the glasses balanced precariously on the end of his nose.

“You—you—“

Arthur doesn’t get a chance to finish his thought as Merlin slams his door. His gaze darts to Gaius, who raises an eyebrow at him.

“How… _what?_ ”

“I presume it’s Merlin’s glasses that have you so perplexed.” Arthur nods frantically. “Well, they are just glasses, Sire. You look as though you’ve just seen him sprout a second head.”

Alright, fair enough but also.

“How long has he needed them?”

Gaius frowns. “Certainly since he came to Camelot, Sire. Is there a problem?”

“Why doesn’t he wear them all the time then, if he needs them so bad?”

“I imagine making sure they stay _on_ would be something of an issue,” Gaius remarks, “not to mention keeping them clean.”

“Ah, well, that’s Merlin,” Arthur mutters.

“Is there anything else, Sire?”

Gaius’ tone says there better not be.

Arthur shakes his head, retreats to his chambers. Merlin wears glasses. Merlin needs glasses. Merlin squints all the time because he needs glasses. Merlin can’t _see_ things all the time because he needs glasses.

Merlin squints because he needs glasses.

Arthur doesn’t know what to do with this information so for a while he does nothing. Merlin doesn't mention it when he comes to work later in the day, and they both move on as if they’ve forgotten it. But Arthur can’t forget how…how he looked in the glasses.

Then he starts trying to sneak a peek. He opens the door to Gaius’ chambers quietly, when he’s sure Gaius is with his father, to try and find Merlin. More often than not, Merlin’s not there, off doing something else. But sometimes, sometimes he’ll see Merlin bent over a book, glasses perched on the end of his nose.

They look good on him.

They look _really_ good on him.

Arthur’s screwed.

He manages to confront Merlin about it one day. Merlin’s struggling with one of his chores; he’s trying to mend the trim on one of Arthur’s fancier tunics.

“You could always wear your glasses,” Arthur says when he sees Merlin sucking on his finger for the third time in ten minutes, “if, er, it will help.”

Merlin looks up at him in surprise, finger still dangling from his mouth. Arthur ducks away in embarrassment, hiding the glow of his cheeks when Merlin mutters a thank-you.

After that, he can be a little more brazen when he goes down to find Merlin. This time, Merlin doesn’t snap his glasses off the minute he sees Arthur, he leaves them on until Arthur tells him what they’re doing. He tries to push down the lurch in his chest when he sees Merlin in the glasses.

Then, one night, he goes to find Merlin and he’s slumped over a book, fast asleep.

Arthur pauses in the doorway, the shout dying on his tongue, as he looks at the face of the man who almost never stops squinting. In his sleep, his face smooths out and there’s the slightest smile on his face. He looks younger, more at peace. Almost picture-like, if it weren’t for the glasses smushed awkwardly against his skin. Arthur winces sympathetically, knowing the pains of waking up after sleeping with something hard pressing against you.

He makes a decision.

Carefully, oh so carefully, he makes his way across the room to Merlin, smirking slightly when he sees the dampness until Merlin’s jaw. With deft fingers, he lifts Merlin’s head the smallest bit, gentle enough not to wake him, and slides the glasses out from under him. He lays Merlin back down, smiling when Merlin gives a sleepy little murmur and nuzzles into the book. On second thought, it’s probably not a good idea to leave him _here_ either.

Merlin’s bed has one pillow. Arthur takes it and the small blanket draped over the end and creeps back to Merlin, replacing the book under his head with the pillow, marking the page, and closing it carefully. He drapes the blanket slowly over his servant, smoothing out the wrinkles over the bony shoulders.

He sets the glasses on top of the book and strokes Merlin’s hair back from his forehead. When Merlin smiles in his sleep, Arthur smiles too.

Well and _truly_ screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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